


Hanging on by a Thread

by LuckyLectio



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conspiracy, Don't Let The Tags Scare You, Eating Disorders, Gen, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Imprisonment, M/M, Mystery, Near Death Experiences, Platonic Soulmates, Politics, Poor Prompto Argentum, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rescue, Soulmates, Wrongful Imprisonment, this is about healing and recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyLectio/pseuds/LuckyLectio
Summary: The phrase “hanging on by a thread” existed for a reason. A bonded pair’s threads took the form of an inked line tracing a complete circle around their necks, and these lines reflected the health of those bonded to each other. There were theories, endless theories, that soulmates on the brink of death would hang on a while longer with their other half present.And his soulmate needed all the help he could get.-Or-Noctis’ soulmate has been missing from his life for years. He finds him, but not in any way he ever wanted to.Prompto, for his part, just wants to see the sun again.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum, Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 118
Kudos: 386





	1. Finally Found

-Prologue- 

_He realized at some point that he was dying._

_He didn’t really remember when his body finally started giving up. He’d been here so long that time slurred together, the only note of the passage of time being the inconsistent scrap of food and a cup of milky water offered on a rusted, grimy tray. Those had stopped coming some time ago, and with nothing left to break up the passage of time, he lay on his side watching the dust motes swirl with each of his shallow breaths._

_The soul thread around his neck pulsed with an unrequited bond. He would call it painful, but he’d already experienced far worse in his short life. Still, as numb as he was, he couldn’t help but plead once more for the agony to stop, for someone to help him._

_He couldn’t see the dust motes anymore. His vision kept getting darker, and he didn’t have the energy to try to blink the spots away. In the distance he thought he heard some loud, screeching sound, something like metal, and was vaguely surprised his ears still worked._

_Hands were on him again, it had been a while, but he knew what it meant. His mind blanked in preparation for the oncoming pain, but his body gave up before the hands could start their work._

\----

It had been nearly two years since Noctis first felt his soulmate nearby. The first several months he felt every desperate pull that his soulmate shared. It sent him on a frantic search every time, he’d leave meetings and conferences, ditch anything he’d made plans for. He had hunted through every inch of the Citadel, and came up with nothing. After a while the pull stopped coming, only lingering on the edges of his mind as some lost fragment of himself he could never hold. 

His soulmate’s bond was weak in his mind now, the incomplete thread about his neck thrumming quietly, a constant call.

Ignis was looking at him now, having just asked a question Noctis was far too spaced out to hear. He pulled his focus back, “Sorry, what?”

Ignis didn’t let his irritation show. “You have dinner with His Majesty this evening, do you have any requests for the entre?”

“Dinner, right...” Noctis mumbled, not answering the question.

Ignis gave a quiet sigh, but didn’t blame him for his distractions. He was all too aware of Noct’s endless search for his soulmate. He’d searched himself, and came up with dead ends every time. He couldn’t understand the difficulty there could be in finding a person that hadn’t left the area within two years. They were obviously part of the regular Citadel staff, perhaps a Crownsguard or a Glaive. Noctis had described the call as stronger near the barracks, but they’d been to the barracks and training grounds on many occasions and came up empty every time, and every time Noctis became a little quieter, a little more distant. Lately, one was lucky to get a full sentence out of him on any given day. 

Regardless, Noctis should have stumbled across them at some point. He’d refused to leave the Citadel for most any reason; given up going to public school, passed up fishing trips even when begged, stopped sleeping to the point that the Crown doctor prescribed sleeping medication. 

In other words, he’d stopped being _Noct_. 

Even now, his charge sat slumped in a chair in his study, studying nothing, only staring into space with deep-set eyes ringed with exhaustion. He’d managed to get dressed properly today at least. Well, mostly. His hair was disheveled, his jacket unbuttoned and shirt untucked. Not that it mattered, Noctis hadn’t left his quarters in days.

Ignis was frustrated, not entirely with Noctis, but his mysterious soulmate as well. He’d come to hate the days Noctis refused to move, associating them entirely with his missing half. Ignis had silently come to the conclusion that Noctis’ soulmate was likely actively avoiding him. It made sense if the person turned tail every time they spotted Noctis searching. Being the soulmate of royalty was understandably daunting, dangerous even. 

If they connected, he knew that Noctis’ soulmate’s life would be deeply affected, however much they wished to stay ‘normal.’ At minimum, they’d be pulled into nobility and all the nonsense that entailed, and be restricted from freely leaving Insomnia. All to avoid risks to the royal family or hostage situations, but he could understand how a person could feel trapped by that prospect. 

But to avoid a bond for two _years_ , when all they needed to do was meet once to end it? An incomplete thread was unrelenting, an urge not unlike an addiction. If they just met once, that’s all it would take. The call would end and they could carry on with their lives. 

This was the ideal situation Ignis hoped for every time he saw Noctis slumped over and defeated, as he was presently. 

Whoever they were, they’d left their other half to suffer.

His thoughts were interrupted by Noct’s shuddering voice, “It’s getting worse…” It was so quiet he might’ve missed it, but he couldn’t miss the desperation on Noct’s face, his eyes suddenly wide with fear.

Horrified, Noctis stood abruptly, chair screeching on the marble floor before toppling over in a loud clatter. His hand whipped to his throat where the thread stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. The thread burned red.

He bolted out the door, Ignis on his heels. “Highness!”

But Noctis wasn’t listening, he didn’t stop running until he burst through the Crownsguard headquarters on the opposite side of the Citadel. Gasping for air, he ignored all the panicked questions from the Guards and trainees he’d just interrupted. 

Ignis caught up a moment later. “Highness! Tell me what’s happening!”

“They’re here, they’re here, Ignis.” Noct gasped. “They’re _dying_ …” 

Ignis’ blood froze in his veins. He tried to compose himself, failed, tried again. He stumbled into his next words, “Focus, Noct, what do you feel?” If Noct could clamp down on the thread’s death burn, he might be able to find their location. From his place beside Noct, he could see the dying thread itself, the horrid red glow flickering and fading as it threatened to fall apart. 

They had very little time.

Noct clamped his eyes shut and tried to focus. This is not how he ever wanted to find his soulmate, the wretched feeling of the death throes tearing into his soul. Again and again he had been drawn to the Crownsguard headquarters. How many times had he simply walked by?

He watched his tears fall into the dirt of the outdoor grounds. He stumbled forward a few steps before he realized the pull wasn’t getting any closer. It was straight below him, the wet spots of his tears seeming to mark the spot. He’d stopped right where he needed to when he’d run in.

“Below us.” Noct gasped. “Right below us.” He shuddered, reaching for his neck as the bond burned quietly in a desperate plea.

The Crownsguard in the immediate area mumbled in confusion. There was nothing but dirt below them. Ignis was already on the phone.

Noctis wandered, letting the bond pull at him. He felt the pull downwards, stronger the closer to death his soulmate got. He could hear Ignis close by talking quickly into his phone, not getting the answers he hoped for and hanging up, only to dial another number in the next breath. Noctis stumbled into a half jog to a building nearby. Several Crownsguard snapped to attention at his entrance.

Ignoring them, Noctis turned sharply to the right, down another corridor. Numerous doors punched into the ancient stonework. He passed a half a dozen of these doors, but a shiver, a whisper in his mind stopped him in front of one. It was old but sturdy. Grime and age defined it, but it seemed oddly well used.

Noct summoned his sword and stabbed the old lock clean through. He wrenched it open expecting resistance, but was surprised when it made barely any sound, sliding open on well-oiled hinges.

He didn’t care what was in the next room, vaulting over crates and toppling racks of obsolete weaponry in his haste to reach the back to find… a blank wall. His hands scraped over the rough stone surface in desperation. Ignis was searching next to him, his phone still held to his ear. 

Noctis gasped and fell hard to his knees, clutching his throat at a sudden wave of pain. The thread burned harshly, lighting up the darkened space. When he blinked back up, Ignis was trying different combinations on a keypad hidden behind a banner while listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the line. After a dozen or so tries, the wall shuddered inwards just slightly. 

Noctis was bounding down the stairs behind the wall before the door fully opened. Gladio was there, barking orders to the Crownsguard that followed him in. He wasn’t sure when his Shield had appeared, but he was glad for his presence. Ignis was close by, having put his phone away in favor of matching Noctis’ desperate speed.

A crusted electric cord curled down into the depths, powering sparse, flickering lights. The bare, sometimes broken, bulbs were a blur as they sprinted down four levels before Noctis finally stopped. The hall was barely lit, though Ignis had pulled his phone out again, the flashlight cutting through the flickering darkness as the string of ceiling lights feebly struggled. Metal doors lined each side of the short stone hallway, but Noctis only needed the one.

Closer, closer… gods, the thread was all but yanking him forward. He stumbled against the wall, immediately pushing himself off and continuing. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his ears and the gasps of stale air he was raking into his lungs. Before him was a door, looking as decrepit and filthy as the others next to it, but beyond it, he knew who he would find.

Noctis stabbed his sword into the lock and yanked, but unlike the door before, this door didn’t budge. He cried out in frustration and yanked harder.

“Step back,” Gladio said, pulling Noct away by the shoulder. A strangled sound escaped him as even those few extra inches of distance felt like it was dragging the noose tighter. 

Gladio summoned his greatsword, slamming it into the door, the force of the impact warping the rusted metal. Debris poured out of the ancient masonry as the stones cracked. He pulled, and with a horrible shriek the door bent under the pressure, tearing away from its hinges.

The room was small. An unused cot wedged on one wall, a drain on the opposite side. 

On the floor lay a body, crumpled in on itself. A faint red thread curled around their throat.


	2. Finally Whole

Gladio watched as Noctis stumbled into the room, the prince’s knees cracking hard against the stone floor as he fell beside the unmoving figure. If that harsh red glow wasn’t wrapped around both of their necks, Gladio would’ve thought he’d opened a tomb.

Noctis hesitated the barest moment, some haunted part of his mind worried that this was a trick of his imagination, a dream, that his hand would pass right through the person in front of him like a spirit. He reached out with trembling fingers, hands hovering over the still form of his soulmate, before finally brushing his hand to a thin shoulder. 

The soul threads around their necks flared a bright burst of glimmering gold. Finally connected, the fractured and incomplete lines inked themselves whole. The light briefly illuminated the stone prison around them, highlighting in a flash the horrors the room had seen, before fading. 

That light, that connection, was always meant to be beautiful; a celebration of a bond finally completed. Here, buried deep beneath the ground, it may as well have been the light of a pyre.

A choked sob broke through the silence. Noctis reached out to pull his soulmate closer into his trembling arms, clutching him to his chest in desperate relief. His soulmate was here, _real_ , beneath his fingertips. No longer were they some unreachable goal, no longer a lost fragment of himself he longed to hold. For the first time in two years, he was finally whole.

The thread about his throat felt as if it had weight to it now, full and substantial. If he was in any state of mind to do so, he could reach out to feel the soul he was connected to. As it was, the thread was thin and frail, the soul on the other end eerily still.

Noctis rocked back and forth, clinging gently to his soulmate. He cried out, the wretched sound echoing off the ancient stone walls around them and further down the corridor. The young man hung limp in his grasp, unresponsive.

Ignis stepped into the small space, kneeling beside his charge to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Carefully, Noct,” he spoke softly, but Noctis could hear the stilted edge to it. “He needs medical attention immediately.” The threads, finally whole, had returned to that horrid red. Connected or not, Noctis’ soulmate was not going to survive much longer without aid.

Noctis had the sense left in him to nod. He was trembling, tears falling onto his soulmate’s sallow flesh. He raised a shaky hand to brush the long blond hair away from the boy’s face. The strands were brittle like the rest of him, and as the matted lengths of hair moved out of his face Noctis got the first look at his soulmate in the red glow of their threads. 

He was pale, as expected from this lightless place, with high cheekbones and sunken eyes. His eyes were firmly closed, not having witnessed their long awaited meeting. Where the drops of Noctis’ tears had smudged the filth away, he thought he could see the ghosts of what might be freckles peeking out. Buried beneath the grime of dirt and blood, and the horrible thinness of his features, was a wonderful person. Noctis prayed to whatever Astral was listening that things wouldn’t end here. 

Ignis stepped away, lighting the area with his phone and allowing Gladio to shuffle into the small space so he could carefully lift the skeletal body out of Noctis’ hold. Noctis resisted at first, not wanting to let go, but ultimately relinquished his grip. Despite how terribly light his soulmate was, Noctis doubted he could carry him the whole way up and out of here. He knew Gladio would be the best option to get his nameless soulmate out safely; the Shield had been trained in every type of survival and first aid known to man. 

Gladio looked the boy over before reaching out, making sure there weren’t any grievous injuries. Gods, the kid was _bones_ … bones wrapped in thin skin and filth, and whatever scraps of cloth he assumed used to be clothes. A touch to the shoulder confirmed he was as cold as the stones he lay on. Gladio quickly shrugged off his Crownsguard jacket and wrapped it around him in an attempt to get some heat into him. The dungeons were not overly cold, but the kid had absolutely zero body fat on him to insulate himself. The last thing he needed was to be hypothermic, too.

Seeing no physical injuries besides old scarred wounds, he bent to gently take the body into his hold. He carefully tipped him up, supporting his head and neck, all the while feeling for anything he might have missed. He grimaced as he felt every knot of the kid’s spine. The poor light and overall grime made it difficult to see any wounds, but he was running out of time. This kid needed medical attention _ages_ ago. 

He shifted, taking the boy’s light weight fully into his arms and away from Noctis. Noctis looked lost without his soulmate, staring a little blankly at his empty arms where the body used to be. As Gladio moved to stand a sudden tug made him stop, stumbling a little. Looking down, he swore at what he saw. 

A blackened chain was shackled around the boy’s ankle, the end welded to the middle of the floor. The ankle was bone thin, but thick with calluses; the cuff having rubbed the flesh for a long while. There was no lock on the cuff, but dark purple scarring around the area gave the painful impression that it had been welded shut. The shackle was attached to a chain so short that there would have been no way for the boy to even reach the walls of the already small room, let alone the cot wedged in the corner for even an attempt at a comfortable sleep.

Noctis’ face twisted in rage. A burst of blue crystalline light and a gutteral sound was the only warning they got before Noctis plunged his engine blade through the chain to sever it, fury driving the sword half the length into the stone floor and chipping the reinforced steel. The chain links fell slack in a heap, sparking off the ground with a clatter of metal. Noctis heaved a sob, still clutching the hilt. Ignis set a supportive hand to Noctis’ shoulder and gave Gladio a nod to continue.

Gladio gently lifted the boy the rest of the way, Noctis following the movement as if pulled by a gravitational force. The remainder of the cut chain dangled loosely until Ignis stepped up to tuck it carefully over Gladio’s arm so it would not chafe the boy’s ankle any more than it already had. 

Gladio walked a quick, but steady, pace to the stairs. He was hyper aware of every movement he made, the body in his arms shifting slightly with every step. He felt as if he was carrying something made of fractured glass; still whole, but one misstep away from shattering to a thousand pieces. 

The boy’s hand slipped free, hanging limply and swaying with each stride. Noctis stepped close and held it for the rest of the journey.


	3. Finally Digging

The paramedics had been horrified when the four of them surfaced from that pit and into the cool lights of the Crownsguard Quarters, managing to just barely keep a mask of well-trained professionalism in place. Gladio lay the unconscious body gently onto the waiting gurney, and the paramedics set to work in appalled silence. They worked with wide eyes, flitting about with practiced motions as they secured him in place, only to find the straps couldn’t tighten quite far enough to hold him.

“Ignis,” Noctis’ voice was hoarse, but held more royal authority to it than it had in years. Ignis felt himself straightening his posture automatically. 

“Start digging.”

“At once, Highness.” Ignis acquiesced with a short bow, though Noctis’ eyes never stray from the shallow rise and fall of his soulmate’s chest to see it.

He gave a brief nod to Gladio, then turned on his heel to face the depths they’d just surfaced from. He glanced back briefly before entering to watch the hurried crowd of medical professionals whisk the boy away, Noctis and Gladio following a short distance behind. 

He couldn’t help but note the determined set to the prince’s shoulders, how he clenched his fists and strode forward filled with purpose. It was leagues different from the vacant, depressed person he’d come to know.

That, he supposes, is the power of soulmates. Even at death’s door, they give each other something to live for.

He can only pray the young man survives.

He forces himself to return to the task at hand. Worrying about something he had no control over would only cause undue stress, and stress meant mistakes he couldn’t afford. 

Instead, Ignis starts planning, settling into his usual methodical mindset. 

First, he calls King Regis. He never, ever, directly calls the king unless it’s an emergency, so Regis answers the phone immediately.

“Is everything alright, Ignis?” his king asks, in lieu of a greeting. His voice is kind, as usual, but the question betrays his concern. “I’m catching word something has occurred with Noctis.”

“Prince Noctis’ soulmate has been found,” Ignis says, then stops, at a loss at how to continue. How do you explain to your king their son’s soulmate had nearly died abandoned and alone in one of their own prisons?

“...your tone suggests it was not the celebratory event it should have been.”

Ignis isn’t really sure where to begin, but summarizes briefly what has occurred in a short and concise report. He takes a deep breath to settle himself.

“Prince Noctis was able to locate him following his soul thread’s death burn,” he hears King Regis’ breath stutter out in an aborted gasp. “It led him through an abandoned prison block beneath the Crownsguard Headquarters, where the young man was recovered in poor condition. He has been sent to the Citadel’s hospital for immediate aid. Prince Noctis and Gladio both followed and they will be arriving at the hospital shortly.”

“I…” King Regis’ naturally well-spoken voice crumbles. “Thank you for telling me, Ignis. I will head that way as well. Is there anything else?” He asks. Ignis can hear shuffled movement through the phone, followed by the ding of an elevator.

“Not as yet.” Ignis replies. “I’ve remained behind at the scene to investigate per Prince Noctis’ request.”

“Thank you, Ignis. Please keep me informed,” Regis says.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The call ends. He lets the dial tone ring for half a heartbeat before calling the Crown Investigator’s office, requesting the team be immediately deployed to his location. Assured they were on the way, he hangs up. 

Messages delivered, he readies his phone to record every detail of his descent. He takes a light from a nearby Crownsguard and pins it to his chest, ordering them to remain at the entrance and allow nobody in except the investigation team. Unfortunately, the three of them had already thoroughly contaminated the scene, so he is very careful as he begins his documentation.

Ignis starts at the door and works his way in. He documents the now broken lock as it opens into the supposedly unused storage room, the hidden keypad wedged subtly behind a ratty Crownsguard banner hanging on the far wall, and the equally camouflaged secret entrance. 

He continues on. The soles of his shoes tapping down the empty stairwell. The sound echoes eerily off the stones, haunting the area with the illusion of company, despite the fact that he was utterly alone. The loudness of it was made all the worse by how the sound could in no way reach the surface, leaving any pleas for help go unheard. 

Once this initial investigation was completed, he would work with a few trusted Crownsguard and the other investigators to check the other floors and the cells within, just in case. He shuddered to think that any other poor souls may be trapped as well. That said, since this involved the prince’s soulmate, it was far more likely to be a targeted event.

He finally reaches the cell door. It had been warped, nearly wrenched off its hinges, but Ignis didn’t care. It was the small room behind it that truly told the story. 

The horrors those four walls had seen were written into the stone in stains and scorched filth. On the floor near the door, desperate claw marks carved deep gouges, fractured fingernails sometimes caught between the stones. The marks worked their way up the back of the metal of the now ruined door. In the far corner was a collection of tally marks, etched into the floor and wall. There was a dusty cot on one wall, unmistakably stained with splatters of rusted red more so than the original color of the faded linen. On the opposite side was a drain, along with a previously unseen tap above it that leaked gritty water from some unknown source. 

The middle of the floor held the blackened chain, the end still welded firmly to the floor. Noctis had never dismissed his engine blade, so it remained pierced into the stones among fragments of the severed chain links. The polished metal of the weapon glimmered brightly in the light compared to the dingy surroundings.

Ignis noted all of it, stepping carefully through with detached clarity. The tale the area had to tell all documented in great detail in both video and an innumerable amount of photos. By the time the Crown’s investigation team arrived to meet with him barely ten minutes later, he’d witnessed enough to give him nightmares for weeks to come. Regardless, he directs the investigative team through the area and answers any questions they have regarding how they found the boy.

The boy, who should not have even _been_ here. The boy, who had suffered what was becoming clear was wrongful and unethical treatment, isolation, and possibly torture. The boy, who, if Ignis was correct, likely hadn’t seen the light of day in two years.

The boy, who was Noctis’ long lost soulmate.

Ignis was not a man to show his emotions, preferring instead to keep his feelings far separate from his tasks. His duty often demanded he keep his thoughts to himself in order to best serve the Crown. 

Outwardly, he appeared calm and collected. 

Inwardly, he was _seething._

Seething a mixture of both anger and guilt. Anger, that the culprits are still out there, free and unpunished. And guilt, that the boy had suffered as long as he did, and that Ignis himself had thought so negatively of him for not returning Noctis’ call. When the boy recovered, because he refused to say ‘if’, he owed him a sincere apology.

 _Start digging,_ his prince had commanded. 

And he would. He wouldn’t stop until he had answers in hand, ready to return in equal measure to whomever decided that treating a human being in such a way was acceptable, to grant them the same imprisonment they had issued. The Crown would call for justice, and he would happily oblige.

So no, Ignis wasn’t digging just for information.

He was digging the culprits' graves.


	4. Finally Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Prompto's medical condition is described in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but you can safely skip to the "----" if it bothers you.

Doctors bustled in and out constantly. IV’s dripped, the clock ticked, people talked in urgent undertones. The respirator was white noise, hissing in time to his soulmate’s shallow breaths. The monitors beeped to a rhythm, except when they didn’t, and set off screeching, causing even more chaos.

Noctis was wedged in a chair in the corner of the Citadel’s ICU upon entry, told firmly, but in polite words, that he was permitted to stay in the room provided he remained well out of the way.

Even King Regis, who’d arrived at the infirmary bare minutes after receiving Ignis’ call, sat in silence outside the room. His face looked to most like a practiced calm, stoic in the way only royalty seemed to project. Only those closest to him knew the pinched look around his eyes, or if they noted how tightly he gripped his cane, they didn’t mention it. Gladio stood as a statue next to his father, Clarus, guarding the entrance and the prince within. His eyes would occasionally flick to the door as if he could see his charge through the barrier.

Inside the room, Noctis chewed his nails to bleeding as he watched from a distance. Eyes barely blinking, latched on to his soulmate from across the room as the truths of his situation were revealed. Every once in a while he got up to pace, or pull at his hair, or fidget. None of the nurses were brave enough to ask him to stop.

The phrase “hanging on by a thread,” existed for a reason. A bonded pair’s threads took the form of an inked line forming a complete circle wrapping around each person’s neck. These lines reflected the health of those bonded to each other. There were theories, endless theories, that soulmates on the brink of death would hang on a while longer with their other half present. Obviously, it wasn’t something that could be easily studied.

Regardless, this was the _Prince’s_ soulmate, the doctors weren’t going to tell him couldn’t be there, especially on the off chance it might help the boy.

And the boy needed all the help he could get.

There was almost nothing left of him. His skin was pulled tightly to the bones beneath, every knob of bone and stretch of sinew was easily visible as the doctors and nurses cut off the soiled scraps of clothes to get him in a medical gown and disinfect any patch of skin they needed access to.

Where the nurses had wiped the grime away to fit the IV needles, the skin beneath was so pale it was almost luminescent, and so thin that they could see the metal of the needles tucked under the flesh. If the IV needles were any longer they would have gone right through him. Tape and bandages covered some of the skin, and Noctis worried about what might happen when the tape needed to come off.

There was no time to get him properly cleaned, not until they were sure he was stable, but a small effort was made to peel away a layer of filth from his face, revealing the hollowed mask of a young man. The horrors were drawn under his eyes in great shadows and ground into the bones of his cheeks and jaw. Dried, cracked lips parted to pass only the barest of breaths.

A terribly thin throat held his soul thread, still trembling in a shaky and uncertain red line. Noctis’ own thread burned the same color, a constant searing reminder of his soulmate’s condition. It left an ache in the back of his mind where the soul he was supposed to be tied to only trailed off into nothing, his soulmate too far out of reach.

Beneath that, his soulmate’s clavicle jutted at such a sharp angle it looked to cut through the skin, and further still, Noctis’ eyes caught on every rib as his torso was bared. The thin skin was filled with faint silvery scars and aged wounds that went beyond his abused body’s ability to heal. The odd yellowed bruise or cracked red skin adding the only color.

His right forearm was noticeably bent, an old bone break that was never set properly. The flesh of the forearm was scarred and burned, almost whole chunks missing near his wrist. It was set into a temporary sling, and it would need to be rebroken and set later if... _when_ his body recovered enough to handle the procedure.

The doctors didn’t care much about the boy’s modesty at the moment, but Noctis looked away when they cut the scraps off his hips. Even without looking, the hushed whispers and clinical detached words from the doctors was enough to make him nauseated.

By the time Noctis raised his eyes, they’d covered him in a temporary paper gown. Stick-thin legs stuck out from the bottom, followed by boney feet. He glared at the shackle still wrapped around his soulmate’s ankle. It was temporarily stuffed with padding to keep it from rubbing, until someone could come by later with the proper tools to cut the cold metal cuff from his body.

The main worry, though, was organ failure. His kidneys were struggling the most, like they’d forgotten quite how to process anything more than half a cup of water. The IV’s they’d placed ended up being a precarious balance of too much for his body to handle, and not enough. The doctors had debated dialysis, but decided against it given his already unstable state. Instead, they took a small vial of his blood to send off for testing. Further decisions would depend on the results.

Of course, one of the first things the doctors tried was an elixir. It wouldn’t do much for his overall malnourishment, but it would heal up any tissue damage and help stabilize his failing organs.

Or it was supposed to. Noctis had personally emptied out a chunk of the armiger, handing over a small hoard of different potions, elixirs, and remedies to the medical staff for them to use. There were even a couple Phoenix Down’s in there if the worst came to pass.

They immediately cracked one of the elixirs over his soulmate’s still form. The item vanished in a burst of light, enveloping the pale boy in a glimmer of blue mist. It seeped in, and… nothing. The smallest cuts barely faded.

Noctis stared alongside the equally baffled medical staff for a full three seconds before snatching up a potion himself, breaking it directly onto the boy’s thin chest. A burst of green, but no changes. The bruises remained stubbornly in place. He grabbed a remedy, broke it over him. Nothing. An antidote. No use.

His breathing came in rapid with panic, frantic and unsure what to do. A nurse hooked an arm around him and hauled him bodily away while the rest of the staff took over their efforts once again. He slumped into his chair on the opposite side of the room and fell into a panic attack.

The nurse that brought him over patiently worked him through it, holding his hands to ground him and speaking softly in reassuring words. No one judged him for it. Everyone present knew how bad the situation was; if any of their soulmates were in the same condition they’d be equally a mess.

By the time Noctis had regained his frayed composure, his soulmate’s blood work came back.

“He’s built up an immunity,” one of the doctors translated the results from the clipboard he wielded.

“Immunity,” Noctis repeats in hollow disbelief. “To elixirs.”

“And other forms of magical healing,” the doctor confirmed. “Like many modern medicines, repeated use and application can lessen the effects over time.”

The doctor didn’t need to go into detail. Didn’t need to say what the silvery scars on his soulmate’s skin meant. Didn’t need to say, when a round of x-rays returned, what the evidence of repeated fractures and rapid bone healing implied.

Noctis crumpled in on himself, and cried.

\----

Time passed… Noctis couldn’t say how much, be it hours or days, just that he did not leave the room for the entire duration. He was vaguely aware of the light changing in the room, of a nurse coming by with a tray of food that would go untouched, of Ignis stepping in to update him on his findings and check on his well-being.

But none of it mattered. Only the pale husk of a person laying comatose in front of him mattered. He didn’t move from that room until his soulmate was declared stable.

“Stable” meant being hooked up to three different IV drips, a respirator, a feeding tube, and two different complex systems to monitor his vitals.

While the doctors allowed visitors, they left no illusion about the boy’s fragile state. Any visitors would need to sanitize before entering the room, wear a face mask and any contact was outright forbidden. After so long malnourished and isolated, his body’s immune system was practically non-existent. Noctis was the only person where the barest contact was allowed, and even then he had to wear gloves.

King Regis entered the room shortly after his son’s soulmate had been declared stable. Noctis was a fixture at the bedside, only having moved when the doctors needed space to work. He didn’t look up as his dad approached.

Regis could see his son’s soul thread, still simmering a dark red, matching the neck of his bedridden counterpart. It had been days, but his son’s soulmate still did not wake. And Regis knew from Noctis’ own brush with death as a child that the longer he went without waking, the less likely it would be.

The king placed a gentle hand to his son’s shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb, offering silent support. He allowed himself a hopeful smile when he spotted what Noctis was holding.

Noctis had one hand clutching his soulmate’s frail fingers. In the other, he fiddled with a very familiar blue fox figurine.

After a moment, he placed the small figurine softly on the pillow next to his soulmate’s head, and prayed.


	5. Finally Ready

Prompto sat at the bottom of a lakebed, looking up at the light as it shimmered down through the water. The light didn’t quite reach him, and he was fairly sure the surface was frozen for all it moved, but it was beautiful to watch nonetheless. Besides the small amount of light, the water’s surface, and the sand he sat on, there was nothing around but darkness.

It was still and quiet, and lulled him into a peaceful calm.

Prompto nearly jumped out of his skin when something chirped right beside him.

He whipped his head over to see a phone, sitting in the sand. He stared at it for a minute before shakily leaning over to look at the screen more closely. It chirped again as Prompto went to pick it up and he snatched his hand away, scared.

Nothing ever changed in this place. He’d been here several times before, and could always count on it being a constant reassuring peace. Why was it suddenly different? It made him uneasy, even as he reached out again to pick up the phone.

It was a light weight in his hands, and looked just like the one he used to have in high school. The screen was lit with two unread messages. He tentatively tapped them open.

 _Hey!_ Read the first message, followed by a bunch of sparkles and star emojis.

 _My name is Carbuncle! I’m here to help you!_ Said the next.

“But I’m fine,” he thinks aloud, a little startled by his own voice. The air around him echoes a little, even though there’s nothing around for the sound to bounce off of. He didn’t need help, he was safe, the space around him empty of anyone that would hurt him. …Did he even know anyone named Carbuncle?

 _Are you sure?_ Chirped the phone.

He wasn’t. Not really. Prompto knew he only came here when things got really bad, even if he didn’t really know where ‘here’ was. He would simply be in his cell one moment, and then here in the lakebed the next.

The phone chirped again, _This is the world of your dreams. If you want to wake up, we’re going to have to find the exit!_

But Prompto didn’t want to wake up. He hunched in on himself, terrified of waking, if it meant only to return to his cell. The lakebed might be dark and still, but his cell was worse. It held only him and horrible memories.

“No… It’s. It’s safe here. I don’t want to _leave,_ ” he stressed.

_Don’t worry! I’ll protect you!_

He was about to ask how a person on a phone in his dreams was going to protect him, when he felt something brush against his leg. He yelped, and stumbled upright, managing to fumble away a few steps before falling backwards onto his ass in a puff of sand.

In front of him was a tiny white fox, with the biggest ears Prompto had ever seen, a long fluffy tail, intelligent brown eyes, and a ruby horn adorning it’s forehead. The fox padded forward to nudge the phone toward him that he didn’t realize he’d dropped. Prompto flinched when the creature chirped at the same time the phone did. He picked it up with shaky fingers.

 _Don’t be scared!_ The message read. _I’m here to help. Your soulmate sent me to find you!_

His soulmate? He’d never even met his soulmate. He’d wanted to, of course, but fate had other plans, and he’d learned quickly that fate was not kind.

Prompto hesitated, looking back and forth between the phone and the fox creature, which he concluded must be Carbuncle. He knew it was safe here, if a little lonely. But the thought of maybe meeting his soulmate tugged at him. Even if Carbuncle was wrong, he’d probably just end up back here again. There wasn’t much else to lose, he thought.

Except his soulmate. He would lose his soulmate, if he never left this place.

The lakebed seemed suffocating then, the water around him an oppressive weight. Was the light from above always that dim? Even the sand beneath his feet looked ready to swallow him up.

Prompto stood, shaky but determined.

Carbuncle trilled happily in front of him, bouncing in an excited circle.

 _This way!_ He chirped, and trotted past Prompto to a set of stairs that definitely wasn’t there before.

Baffled, he followed. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, craning his neck to gaze up. The stairs spiraled upwards in wavering twists and turns, curling into the distant light above. If he squinted, he thought he could see the top. The surface seemed so far away...

 _You can do it!_ Cheered Carbuncle.

Prompto wasn’t sure if he believed him. There’d been very little he could accomplish or do to improve his life recently. But now, maybe, for his soulmate… He looked down at that first step, then to his feet, shuffling with nervous uncertainty in the sand. With a deep breath, he lifted one foot slowly and placed it down atop the first step. 

Nothing crumbled, nothing hurt. The stair remained solid and pleasantly cool beneath his foot. Shaky with relief, he let his other foot follow, leaving him standing one step closer to the surface. One step closer to his soulmate.

Carbuncle sent him a whole paragraph of confetti and fireworks emojis, and Prompto felt a flutter of some long buried emotion in his chest. He tamped down on it, not wanting to hope for anything if he was just going to be hurt again, but allowed himself a small smile. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and climbed.

It felt like hours before they reached the surface, Carbuncle’s encouraging messages cheering him on whenever he hesitated. Each step brought him a little closer, the light from above a little brighter. After a long while, he found himself running out of steps to climb.

Prompto looked in wonder at the still surface a mere arm’s length away.

“It really is frozen,” he murmured. He’d never been this close before, but now that he was here he could see how ice curled over the waves, freezing them in motion as if time had stopped. The frost drew intricate lines into the ice in delicate patterns, the light shimmering through only adding to the beauty.

 _Let’s go!_ And Carbuncle jumped through, disappearing with a splash.

Prompto startled, maybe it wasn’t frozen like he thought? He reached up to brace a hand against it. At his touch, the surface thawed, and he stepped through to the shore with ease, not even a single drop of water or ice on him.

The world around him was a breathtaking landscape of snow; mountains towered above him on all sides, piercing into a clear blue sky. Lush pine trees, covered in frost and icicles, dotted the area around the lake, growing into thick forests in the distance. He stood there, gaping at the scenery.

Prompto suddenly wished he had his camera. He could imagine a thousand different photos, how the lighting would work at different angles, how to frame each shot.

It was the first time Prompto had thought of his photography in… however long he’d been imprisoned. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but damn, it was beautiful. He became aware he was staring, open-mouthed. He’d forgotten for a moment he was still dreaming.

And there was something _off_ about the world around him. It was beautiful, certainly, but there was no life to it. No birds flying or animals moving about. Despite the obvious winter, Prompto didn’t feel the cold, nor did his breaths fog the air. Oddly, he thought, this dream was like a photo itself; a still moment captured in time.

Carbuncle waited patiently for him atop a nearby snow-covered boulder.

 _Ready?_ He chirped.

Prompto looked down at the black surface of the lake behind him. He couldn’t help but compare it to his prison, cold and dark and unchanging, and wondered why he’d ever wanted to stay.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, with a fragile bubble of confidence. Been ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3
> 
> Just for reference, Prompto's dreamscape is based off [the lake in Ep: Prompto ](https://64.media.tumblr.com/656b596be893e0706decbf499ea7e6e4/9674268ece85fbc8-3d/s1280x1920/0297e003a2a86a6d64c9eed6d30fef17b7e17ecb.jpg)


	6. Finally Named

His soulmate’s name is Prompto.

It took almost a week to find it out. There was no record of him ever being imprisoned; the prison itself was part of some long disused and sealed off section of the Citadel, long past being structurally stable. Ignis theorized it likely hadn’t been used since prior to King Mor’s reign, as not long since then the handling of prisoners was given to local justice systems and the Citadel’s ancient dungeons emptied. Nowadays only the most ruthless and unredeemable prisoners were brought to the Citadel and set before the King and Council’s judgement, and even then their stays were brief.

Noctis didn’t care if his soulmate somehow was some criminal, _nobody_ deserved _this_.

His soulmate lay among countless tubes and wires, skeletal and scarred, too weak to even properly breathe for himself without aid. Still, after nearly a week of soaking up every drop of nutrition leaked into him via IV’s and tubes, his nameless soulmate’s health was steadily improving.

The soul thread around his neck had finally returned to a natural inky black instead of burning a deathly red. Now, if Noctis followed the thread in his mind, the soul on the other end was no longer still and silent. There was a spark, a faint kindling among ashes, and it grew a little stronger every day.

When it became apparent his soulmate was going to survive, they carefully moved him into one of the more secure hospital suites. The suites were much nicer, reserved mainly for royalty or nobles. Despite the improvement over the clinical ICU room, Noctis found the new room to have an uncomfortable feeling of permeance to it. Everything, from the bed to the chairs, and all the attached luxuries, suggested an extended stay.

It reminded him of his own hospitalization as a child, courtesy of an assassination attempt by Niflheim and one thoroughly pissed off daemon. He’d ended up in a coma himself, nearly paralyzed, as a result. If not for Carbuncle and a desperate trip to the Oracle in Tenebrae for healing, he might not have survived.

Had he died back then, would his soulmate have starved to death in that cell? Would he have even been imprisoned in the first place, if not for his connection to Noctis? How did the culprits even _know_? Thoughts like these spun in endless circles in his mind, filling him with regret while he waited by his bedside.

Noctis knew Carbuncle was probably working his tail off to help him wake up, but he was so tired of waiting, alone with his own torturous thoughts. He knows it’s selfish, that his soulmate had suffered far more, that he needs the rest to recover. But he’s waited two years already and now he just...

…He just wants the days before all this when he wasn’t a stressed out mess; when his soulmate wasn’t chained alone in some dungeon; when they still had the possibility of meeting normally out in the world somewhere like all those other happy pairs.

Most of all though, Noctis just wants him to be okay.

Noctis had finally found his soulmate, but he’s not really here. Not yet. His body is, thin and fragile as it is, but his mind slumbers on, far away from the world and the pain it caused him. And Noctis, despite sitting an arm’s length away, felt alone.

Sometimes, though, when Noctis dozed off at his bedside, he would dream of thick forests blanketed in winter. There would be footsteps in the snow, trailing off into the distance. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, he felt himself reassured. Safe, even. Every time, before Noctis could wander too far, Carbuncle would appear and scold him lightly for getting lost, and he would blink back awake in the hospital suite.

And then his father would come by with reassuring words and a kind smile, or Ignis would cook his favorite dishes to bribe him into eating, or Gladio would make snarky comments and complain about training, all in an unsubtle attempt to make things feel normal.

It was a gentle reminder that no, we wasn’t alone. His father, Ignis, Gladio, and even his nameless soulmate were there, supporting him the best they could.

He wasn’t alone.

He would be okay.

 _Both_ of them would be okay. They were in this together.

Sometimes, when the combination of the noisy machines and endless silence got to him, Noctis would talk to him. Quiet words, stories, snippets of things his soulmate might’ve missed while hidden away from the world. He would ask him, too, what had happened. How did you end up there? Who did this to you? But the slumbering boy didn’t answer.

At the moment, very few people knew of his soulmate’s existence, and it would remain that way until the investigation was completed. There were whispers, rumors, of course, about the mysterious blond brought up from the depths that day. Mostly blatant curiosity among the Crownsguard present at the time of his rescue, but nothing concrete.

Meanwhile, Regis, Clarus, Cor, and Titus were keeping a sharp eye on anyone among the Crownsguard or the Kingsglaive that so much as breathed suspicion. They had all been _horrified_ to find this had happened right under their noses, just a few floors beneath their own training grounds.

It wasn’t until after Cor came to visit his soulmate almost a week into his recovery that Noctis was given his name, and not in any way he’d hoped to receive it.

Noctis heard the door open behind him, but didn’t bother looking up. He was focused on the two nurses adjusting his soulmate’s resting position. The blond was unresponsive to their ministrations, his slight weight leaning forward into one nurse's solid hold while the other nurse checked the skin of his back for irritation.

Whoever entered waited politely until the nurses had left before they stepped closer. Noctis reached to shift the Carbuncle figurine closer, as it had slid down the pillow a little when his soulmate was moved.

“ _Six_ ,” they swore. Noctis turned to see Cor standing there, eyes wide with an expression he had never seen him wear. Cor had been briefed on the situation and cleared to visit, but hadn’t actually been by before, too focused on the investigation and keeping his Crownsguard in line. Now though, he was staring at his soulmate like he was witnessing the ghosts of some distant war. Cor’s shoulders suddenly sagged as if gravity were crushing him into the spot.

Noctis was about to ask what the hell that look was for, when Cor turned on his heel and tore out of the room in barely repressed fury. Noctis blinked confusedly after him.

Twenty minutes later, Cor returned. Whatever energy his fury had instilled was drained away by the folder he clutched in his hand. He handed it silently to Noctis and sat heavily on the nearby sofa.

Noctis didn’t open it right away, staring at the plain looking folder as if it was going to sear right through his fingertips. Whatever was in this folder had made Cor the Immortal, the most stoic, no-nonsense man Noctis had ever known, collapse in defeat. He tore his eyes away briefly to look at the man, who had the heels of both hands pressed to his forehead.

“Open it,” Cor ordered, not looking up.

Two quick beats of anxiety later, Noctis flipped it open.

A smiling face was the first thing to greet him. The photo was black and white, a teenager’s face, cracked wide with a grin and eyes bright with humor. Beneath the image was a harsh red stamp, the word “Missing” inked onto the page in a clinical font. There were several more sheets, probably detailing the boy and his circumstances, but Noctis couldn’t look past that smile.

 _Prompto Argentum_ , a small neat font read, right below the picture that was currently sweeping the earth from beneath Noctis’ feet.

“Breathe, kid.” He didn’t realize how long he’d been frozen when Cor’s voice broke through, making him flinch. He whipped his head up to look at his soulmate in disbelief. The difference between the pale boy in front of him and the photo trembling in his hand was staggering. There’s no way this boy on the page was the same…

“How… how do you know him?” Noctis’ voice sounded far away, even to himself.

“I’ve been looking for him since he disappeared, never finding a scrap.” Cor said bitterly. “But before that, I was the one responsible for his adoption into Insomnia,” he added when he saw Noctis go to interrupt. “He was taken in by the Argentums as a baby and I lost contact since.”

Noctis didn't notice when the man stood and left a half hour later, didn’t notice when the report slipped from his fingers and onto the soft cushion of the hospital bed, didn’t notice when Ignis came by with dinner.

He fell into a restless sleep, clutching onto his soulmate’s -- _Prompto’s --_ hand and thinking of how he hoped to see that smile for himself one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil bit more angst for you before we get to the good stuff.


	7. Finally Awake

Waking up was never something Prompto ever considered a challenge. He used to regularly wake up at all sorts of ungodly hours to go for his morning runs, or walk the neighbor’s four unruly dogs, or to work the occasional odd shift at the secret part-time job he used to have. More recently, unfortunately, he’d wake to anything louder than a pin drop; the sound of heavy boots scuffing down the hall, the screech of his cell door, the clatter of the metal tray tossed onto the stones. Sometimes he’d wake to pain, or hunger, but it was nothing that he could do anything about.

Now though, he felt vaguely floaty, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was dreaming or not. The snow-covered forest he’d wandered through for ages was gone, and the little fox, Carbuncle, was nowhere to be found. He found himself lost in a fog of half-formed thoughts and distant voices, all tumbling around in his brain.

Something kept tugging at him, pulling him in one direction. He had no idea why or where he was going, but he followed the pull. It was a... thread? Tied to him, leading him, somehow, though the last bit of fog and into the waking world.

It felt… safe. And for the first time in a long time, he was not afraid.

The world settled and the fog cleared, leaving him drowsy but thoroughly awake. Out of habit, he kept his eyes closed and tried to get a feel for his surroundings.

There were at least two people nearby, maybe three... After so long alone in his cell, he had become very attuned to knowing when someone was near, and it always came with a sense of dread. This time though… everything felt different somehow.

He carefully muted his thoughts and kept his breathing slow, hoping that if he kept still they might think he was still unconscious. Usually they waited until he was awake before causing him pain, but not always. So far Prompto was surprisingly pain-free. Comfortable, even.

He was surrounded by warmth on all sides, and was lying on something blissfully soft. He remembered thinking he was going to die, so maybe he’d finally passed on? Wherever he was, it was a far cry from the carved stone and metal of his cell. This was the best Prompto had felt in a long, long time, and he was loath to give it up, but he cracked his eyes open anyway. When the illusion didn’t shatter like he expected, when the comfort didn’t vanish into pain, he let his surprise fully rouse him.

The first thing he noticed was how _bright_ everything was. His eyes immediately started to burn and water after just barely opening his eyes, forcing him to squint. The world was a smudge of lights and colors, and his mind ached with how drastically different it was from the dingy grey walls of his cell where the faint flickers of light that creeped through under the door were the only source. He can’t even remember the last time he saw this much color. When the slur of lights and colors finally settled, he cautiously looked around.

He was in a large room, with a wall of windows to his right. The curtains were mostly closed, stopping most of the sunlight from reaching him while he slept. Even with the curtains blocking most of the light, the room was almost unbearably bright. All he could see out the couple uncovered panels was a solid block of blue. His thoughts were sluggish, and he still felt a little floaty, warm and numb, but damn if he didn’t recognize _the sky_.

If his eyes teared up a bit more at the revelation, he’d blame it on the brightness of the light. Regardless, his eyes latched onto the view, some irrational part of his brain worried it would disappear if he so much as blinked. He eventually had to, if only because his eyes started to seriously scream at him. He spent some time blinking the spots away before turning his gaze to the rest of his surroundings in groggy disbelief.

The room was massive compared to what he was used to, and decorated with more luxurious items than he’d ever seen in his life. From his limited view, he could see a desk and a series of shelves that were filled with various reading materials and statuettes, a door opened to a separate bathroom, and another door leading to a small kitchen where someone was quietly cooking. Even the walls were fancy, with embellished wallpaper and curved golden sconces dotting the room. The floors were polished marble, doubling the grandeur of the room in a glimmering reflection. A thick black curtain with gold embroidery blocked most of the rest of the room from view in what he realized was something of a canopy bed or a privacy screen.

The baffling decadence of the room clashed terribly with the absolute mountain of medical equipment surrounding Prompto’s immediate vicinity. It looked as if someone had dumped an entire hospital into a five-star hotel room.

All around him were wires, tubes, lights, and machines. The heavy numbness weighing on him had muted just how _much_ stuff was strapped to him. His eyes trailed each wire and tube nervously, seeing most of it disappear beneath the many layers of soft blankets piled on him. His arms were left to rest on top, giving him a clear view of the IV’s stuck into him, and how his bent right arm was strapped into a padded sling. A large clear hose tumbled down from one of the louder machines and led up to his face and connected to a clear mask, hissing air at him.

He didn’t register how noisy everything was until that moment, and his ears ached with the sudden onslaught of sounds. Beeping, whirring, buzzing, breathing…

_Breathing?_

He flicked his eyes to the sound, the quick movement immediately causing a spike of dizziness that he had to close his eyes to ride out. After a few minutes he braved opening his eyes again.

To his immediate left was a chair, scooted up close to the edge of the bed Prompto was currently buried in, and in it was his soulmate.

Prompto knew immediately that that’s who it was. The soul thread about his neck was soothed by his presence, and that the proximity didn’t send Prompto into a panic attack was proof enough. His soulmate was slumped halfway onto the edge of the bed, head tucked down and sleeping in the world's most uncomfortable position.

He couldn’t see his soulmate's face, but that hardly mattered. His soulmate was _here_ , had found him, somehow. He prayed fiercely that he wasn’t dreaming, or hallucinating, or drugged, or anything, _anything_ that would have him wake back up in that cell. He wanted to believe what he was seeing was true, that this wasn’t some spiteful illusion, but he knew better than to take it for truth.

His world was so suddenly bright instead of dark, comfortable instead of pained, kind instead of cruel, and...

And he with his _soulmate_ and _not alone_.

The difference was surreal and overwhelming, and his exhausted mind didn’t know what to do. Overwhelmed, the fatigue reached its way through the back of his brain and yanked him down into the depths behind his eyes. He kept his eyes locked on his soulmate as he fell back into what was, for once, a peaceful sleep.

\----

Eventually Noctis did read through the rest of the report, each word breaking his heart a little further.

Prompto Argentum had gone missing two years ago, on what would have been his first day of high school. There weren’t any witnesses to the actual event, but the school had verified that he was enrolled and simply never showed up. He wasn’t officially reported missing by his parents until a month later when they’d returned from a business trip to find nothing but an empty, dusty house, a packed school bag, and rotten food in the fridge. By then any lead there might have been was long lost.

Noctis remembered what would have been Prompto’s first few months imprisoned, how the incomplete thread had all but yanked him to the Citadel, how frantically he’d searched to no avail. The threads only appeared after puberty, so even though Noctis was sure they’d met as children, he hadn’t bonded with him in time to prevent anything. It ate him up inside, knowing now he’d been suffering right under his feet.

The missing person’s report sat crumpled by the foot of the desk nearby where he’d thrown it across the room in frustration. The photo on the front used the grainy picture from Prompto’s school ID, but even so... Comparing that smiling, happy young man, to the skeletal, scarred form sleeping in front of him made him want to vomit. If there’d been anything in his stomach, that is. Any food he managed to get down tasted like ash and grit on his tongue, even Ignis’ cooking skills made no difference. He couldn’t fathom having an appetite when his soulmate lay in a coma, his only source of food to his malnourished body being a tube forced down his throat.

“You need to eat, Noct.” Ignis’ soft voice broke through his thoughts.

Noctis blankly turned to his advisor, it took him a moment to notice a small folding side table had been set up and a tray of soup set steaming upon it. He resigned himself to at least take a few bites. He glanced back to Prompto, still wheezing shallow breaths through the respirator, then turned to the soup with a reluctant sigh.

\----

There was a weight on his hand, holding it still, pinning it, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t move, they would get bored, leave him be or not, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Prompto tried his best to settle his panicked thoughts.

He waited for the pain, but it never came. All he felt was warm, his body floating and disoriented in the dark behind his eyelids.

He waited.

For a while there was nothing but the soft warmth and that constant, gentle pressure on his hand.

Nothing was ever warm, nothing was ever _gentle_.

Baffled, Prompto peeled his eyelids open, blinking them slowly into the slur of familiar bright light and color. He stared, disbelieving, at the same fancy room that he’d woken to before. The light from the windows had shifted, warming the room with an orange glow.

The man that was in the kitchen before was no longer cooking, but talking quietly with Prompto’s soulmate nearby. His soulmate was facing away, the gentle pressure he felt was him holding lightly onto Prompto’s fingers with one hand. He was trying to eat something with his other hand, but it didn’t look like he was making much progress.

He’d made no attempt to get their attention, but the man with glasses suddenly caught his eye and looked up sharply at him, cutting off whatever conversation they were having. His soulmate whipped around, fast enough that Prompto worried for his neck.

His soulmate…

His soulmate was Prince Noctis.

_Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum._

_Holy sh-_

“ _Prompto!_ ” He hears over the static in his ears, his brain stuttering in and out in shock.

Hearing his own name nearly pushed him over the edge. He almost didn’t recognize it, wasn’t sure he would have if it wasn’t directed right at him. How long had it been since he last heard it?

Outwardly, he was sure he was mostly still. Inwardly, he was reeling. He did the safe thing, and let his mind blank out. _Prompto... Noctis..._ He let those two names rattle around in his head as he watched from far away.

A tug of pure worry pulled at him, kept him from drifting completely. Prince Noctis was clutching at his hand, saying something, his eyes bright with emotion. Prompto blinked sluggishly a couple times, warily bringing himself back.

There was a new feeling pulling at the back of his mind, the thread leading off into a tangle of emotions that definitely didn’t belong to him. It was the Prince, that mess of anxiety and worry reflected perfectly on his face.

Feeling someone else’s emotions was jarring, to say the least. Prompto hadn’t even felt his _own_ emotions in so long, he wasn’t sure what to do. He waited for whatever it is to pass, for the next thing to happen, for him to blink back awake in his cell having dreamt this all up. He’s hallucinated before, so he knows it’s possible.

But the soul bond feels so _real._ It’s making Prompto second guess every survival instinct he’s carefully developed over… gods only know how long he’s been chained in the dark.

He counts a few stuttering heartbeats, trying to focus. It’s hard. His mind just wants to run away, deep set exhaustion already trying to pull him back under. But he remembers Carbuncle. His soulmate, the _Prince of Lucis_ , had sent Carbuncle to help him out of the dark, and he didn’t want to go back there yet. This felt an awful lot like reality, and even if it wasn’t, he wanted to remember this moment.

He forced his eyes to look at his soulmate. His vision was a blur, and he couldn’t hear very well, but it was the best he could do. The heavy, swimmy feeling, pulled against him like the tides.

Noctis’ eyes are pools of midnight blue set into a pale, handsome, worried face. His black feathered hair is cut in soft layers, managing to be neat and messy at the same time. Prompto decides he looks a little older than what he remembers, and if Noctis stood he could probably see a height difference. He’d seen the Prince from afar most days since they went to the same school, but he still hadn’t worked up the courage to introduce himself. He remembers convincing himself one night, rehearsing his introduction over and over in his bathroom mirror.

_Heya, Your Highness! The name’s Prompto! I’ve been watching you for years and --_

_Hi Prince Noctis, my name’s Prompto, a letter from a girl told me to befriend you --_

_Yo, Prince Noctis, I’m sure you don’t remember me, but we met before as kids and I used to be kinda chubby and then I met a dog --_

Prompto distinctly remembers knocking his head against the wall several times from the self-inflicted embarrassment.

He felt none of that now; having never gotten the chance to deliver any of those terrible lines. Prompto can’t make himself see it as a silver-lining, he would have said all those horrid lines and more in one go rather than live through what he’s experienced.

Prince Noctis started to fade in front of him, Prompto found himself slipping, whatever words his soulmate was saying were nothing but slush to his tired brain. His eyelids were heavy, and behind them lay fields of snow and thick trees. He locked eyes with the Prince before sleep claimed him.

 _You found me…_ he whispered, disbelieving, in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's implied, but basically they missed meeting each other as they normally would have in canon by like, a few hours  
> (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻


	8. Finally Improving

Noctis watched pleadingly as Prompto succumbed to sleep so soon after waking. Those bleary blue eyes once again hidden from the world. He took a shaky breath, leaning forward to press Prompto’s frail hand to his forehead. He told himself that he’ll wake up again, he _has_ to. Noctis didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t.

“Highness, your mask.” Ignis held out the medical mask for Noctis to put on. He took it numbly. Ignis was already calling for the doctors, who bustle in a few moments later. He gives them a full report, which isn’t much; Prompto woke, blinked a few times, and fell back asleep within a minute.

“It’s a good sign,” the doctor noted, a breath of relief breaking through his usual professional demeanor. “It is normal for patients coming out of coma’s to be dazed and confused. Do not expect him to be coherent right away.” He leaned over Prompto and lifted each eyelid, shining a small penlight to each eye. He nodded, satisfied at whatever he saw. Next, he lightly pinched the tip of one on Prompto’s fingers, and Noctis swore he saw Prompto’s eyelashes twitch. The doctor performed a myriad of other simple tests, and after checking his vitals, left with an optimistic scrawl on his clipboard. 

Noctis felt warm flutters of hope filling him up for the first time in weeks, and beyond that, years, ever since that cold depression had settled over him two years ago.

Prompto woke again within the next few hours, this time long enough to get a doctor to look at him while his eyes stared blankly ahead. He didn’t respond to any of the doctor’s prompts or questions, gazing dully at the man before moving his eyes to stare at Noctis. Prompto did seem to be trying to focus on him, but drifts off again within a few minutes.

Noctis couldn’t feel anything strong enough tumble down the soul bond, but that didn’t mean Prompto wasn’t in there. Noctis tried not to think about it, praying fiercely that Prompto didn’t have some hidden brain damage. They’d run scans of course, and while there’d been evidence of some long-ago fractures in his face and jaw, there hadn’t been any obvious damage to his brain.

He stayed awake for maybe ten minutes the next time he woke, this time tilting his head a little to the side. Noctis couldn’t tell, it was late evening and he was half asleep himself, but he thought he might have been looking at the little blue figurine softly resting on the pillow next to him.

“That’s Carbuncle,” Noct yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The mask covering his nose and mouth was itchy. “You probably met him… Tiny fox, giant ears and a ruby horn?” he asks, using his index finger to mimic a horn sticking out of his forehead. Prompto just blinks at him.

Noctis coughs, embarrassed. “A-anyway, he’s a messenger, a guardian of dreams… he helped me out when I was hurt as a kid. He’s a good friend of mine.”

He smiled when something fluttered down the bond as he spoke, those soft blue eyes trying their hardest to focus on him. Noct rubbed small soothing circles into the back of Prompto’s hand absentmindedly. Prompto’s eyes moved sluggishly to the hand before looking back to Noctis and dozing off in the next blink.

Noctis yawned, about to follow his soulmate’s example and take a nap. He’d barely slept more than an hour or two at a time for the past week, and he was plainly exhausted. But before he could sink further into the chair that was so blessedly calling to him, there was a soft knock on the door. Ignis entered a moment later.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Ignis greeted both him and his soulmate. Ever polite, even if half the party he spoke to was sleeping. He’d been running himself ragged, split between the ongoing investigation and caring for Noctis, but somehow looked impeccable as ever. He wore a freshly pressed pinstripe suit, his glasses were polished to shine, and his hair was immaculate. Only his eyes gave away his stress, a dark exhausted edge to them visible only those who knew him well.

“How are things faring?” he asks Noctis. He didn’t need to specify that he was asking after both of them.

“Better, I think…” Noctis considered. “I could feel a bit through the bond the last time he was awake.”

“Wonderful news,” Ignis gave a nod, relieved. The doctors were expecting Prompto to wake more often and for longer periods of time as he came out of his coma, but the lack of responsiveness they’d received through their tests while he was awake earlier was concerning. It was a great relief to hear he was improving, even if only by a small bit at a time.

Meanwhile, Noctis’ stress was unwinding in leaps and bounds. Ignis could visibly see his charge improving every moment Prompto’s bleary blue eyes blinked awake, and he silently thanked the boy every time.

Which made Ignis all the more guilty for needing to bring up the other purpose of his visit.

“There’s been a development in the case,” Ignis said. Noctis’ eyes snapped to him instantly, visibly darkening. “I know you’d rather not part with him at the moment, but the Crown Investigators have requested your input.”

Noctis scowled, mood plummeting. “You can’t put it in a report for me?”

“Normally, yes. Unfortunately, it requires a statement with questions and answers from you personally, as well as reviewing some of the, ah, material evidence,” Ignis’ face twitches in a barely restrained grimace.

_Blackened chains, bloodied fabric, scratched stones, desperation thick in the air--_

Noctis shudders, gripping Prompto’s hand tighter, unwilling to leave. “It can’t wait?”

“The sooner the better, I’m afraid. They wish to compile the evidence and statements gathered so far, and yours is the only one missing.” He didn’t mention that the Crown Investigators been asking for days to get the Prince’s statement while the event was ‘fresh in his mind.’

As if any part of that nightmare could fade.

“How long’s this going to take?” Noctis asks, irritated. He’s barely left Prompto’s vicinity except to use the bathroom or shower. He _has_ left the room, if you count the short trip down the hall when they switched to the suite. His father had kindly offered to walk with him in the nearby gardens to take his mind off things. He didn’t take the offer, but Regis left it open for whenever he needed. Gladio had suggested on multiple occasions to spar, maybe work out some of his stress through good ol' sweat and combat. He knew Ignis was worried about him, as well.

“No more than an hour,” Ignis replies, secretly praying Noctis will consider it. In his very slim free time, Ignis had been looking into separation anxiety, only to find Noctis very quickly meeting all the requirements. He unfortunately hadn’t gotten the chance yet to talk with him about it with the ongoing investigation taking up most of his time. This meeting with the Crown Investigators was not his intended way of addressing Noctis' anxiety, but he hoped it would show him it was alright to take more than ten steps away and Prompto still be safe. It was understandable to be worried, but the separation anxiety was going to affect his health if it continued.

Noctis bites his lip. An _hour._ He looks worriedly to his soulmate, quietly slumbering away. Prompto’s been stable for days, steadily improving even without the aid of potions. Logically, Noct knows he’d be able to feel in the bond if anything happened, but it doesn’t make it any easier to leave. Besides, Prompto had just woken up a bit ago, and though it was unlikely he'd wake again so soon, Noctis would hate himself if the boy woke up with nobody around.

“Fine,” Noctis spits the word like a bad taste. “But get Gladio in here or something. I don’t want him left alone.”

“Certainly,” Ignis agrees, relieved. “I’ll call him immediately. Are you alright if a guard waits nearby until he arrives?”

No, he wasn’t. He didn’t want to leave _at all_. Instead, he nods, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Noctis stands, body creaking it’s protests. Okay, he thinks, as his back pops six times in a row, maybe getting up and moving around a bit wasn’t a bad idea. Once Prompto was waking up consistently and feeling up to it, maybe they could walk together in the hospital gardens.

He hesitates at the last moment, clinging on to Prompto’s frail fingers. Noctis gives the thin hand one more gentle squeeze, then lays it softy on the blankets atop the bed. He lingers, his palm feeling empty without Prompto’s hand to hold.

“Hang tight, Prompto,” Noctis says faux casually, trying to ignore the twist of anxiety in his gut. “I’ll be back for that nap in a bit.”

He turns stiffly. Walks to the door. Opens it. Every step away feels like a mile. 

But with a deep, steadying breath, he leaves.

\----

Prompto snaps his eyes open, instantly on edge.

There's a foreboding gloom to the room that creeps into his lungs, filling them with frigid fear. Gone were the warm, fuzzy memories of waking to his soulmate in the bright daylight. Now the windows were pitch black, the night sky clouded over in distant thunderheads. The room was lit only by dimmed overhead lights, still more than he was used to, but never enough.

Noctis was gone, and the room felt cold and empty.

Except that it wasn’t. At the end of the bed stood a very familiar figure, tall and imposing, carved out of so much hatred and contempt that it leaked out around them in a nightmarish aura. Prompto's heart immediately leaped to a staccato beat, while the rest of him froze in petrified fear.

They chuckled, low and humorless, the sound rattling deep in his bones.

“Quite the upgrade, little Nif.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~i love cliffhangers im sorry~~


	9. Finally Foretoken

The man rounds the bed in even steps, slow and unhurried. His piercing eyes linger on Prompto’s unshackled ankle, before placing a gloved fingertip where the cold metal used to be.

“You know, little Nif,” and he starts to trail his finger up his blanketed leg as he walks closer. It makes his skin crawl. “You’ve made things very complicated for me.”

Prompto can do no more than tremble in place, his thoughts starting to flicker and fade to spare him from this man, the one whose presence he has only ever associated with pain.

But the man doesn’t hurt him, not this time. He trails his hand up his skeletal chest, past his bent arm, only to stop and linger, directly on his throat.

Directly over his soul thread.

His grip tightens.

\----

Across the Citadel, Noctis and Ignis make their way to the Crown Investigator’s office.

The office itself was situated above the administrative floors of the Citadel. If not for the organizational skills of several dozen staff members, the place would have long been buried in the mountains of paperwork the department regularly processes.

Currently the place was mostly devoid of people, except for the few unfortunate souls staying late to meet deadlines or working to get a head start on the next day. Ignis led Noctis deeper into the depths of seemingly endless offices and cubicles, past the world of paper he usually doesn’t get to see. By the time any paperwork reaches the Council, King Regis, or himself, it’s already been checked and analyzed by dozens of people. Seeing this side of things always gave him a humble appreciation for those that worked behind the scenes to make other’s days more manageable.

At the end of the hallway, one of the Investigators waits patiently near their main office. She bows deeply as they approach.

“Good evening, Your Highness. Lord Scientia.” She nods to them both, smiling sincerely, not at all bothered by the fact that it’s clearly past the office’s usual closing time. Meeting with royalty was not something one could easily schedule. Given the situation, she’s pleased they got to meet as soon as they have. She’d have called her team in at 3 AM if needed, so a couple hours past office hours was hardly a bother.

“Your Highness, if I may introduce Miss Viridi, the lead Investigator working on this case,” Ignis gestures to her politely.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with my team. Please, come in.” She opens the door behind her, bowing slightly and gesturing them to enter.

Noctis enters the office, giving her a nod of acknowledgement, not quite ready for words. He feels almost queasy being this far away from Prompto, and having to potentially come face-to-face with any bit of evidence dug up from that hellhole was not something he was looking forward to.

Miss Viridi introduces the main force of her team, five other individuals standing to bow deeply at the Prince’s entrance. They’re all in professional dress, neat suits and dresses cleanly pressed, if a little creased from long hours seated at a desk. The desks in question were barely visible, buried in (relatively neat) stacks of papers.

Miss Viridi catches Noctis warily eyeing a somewhat unstable tower of paper, and smiles a little tiredly. “Please excuse the mess, Your Highness. There is an unsurprising amount of paperwork involved in searching for a string of potential criminals within our own walls.”

Ignis, having seen their offices many times already, was unfazed. “That’s quite alright, Miss Viridi. The investigation takes priority over a few stray papers.” He had to hide a smirk, though; if only they knew how atrocious Noctis’ rooms could get if he was left to his own devices. “But I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a time crunch. May we proceed?”

“Of course. This way, please,” she leads them to a tidy meeting room with a modest circular table at its center that was surrounded by a several chairs. She closes the door behind them, leaving the rest of her team on call just in case. “Please, have a seat. This office is both soundproof and secure to ensure confidentiality.”

Once they sit, she continues, bringing forth a tablet for notetaking as well as several manila folders so thick with papers they looked ready to burst. “While I would like to take your statement on your version of events, I would also like to update you on the findings so far.”

“What have you found?” Noctis asks, not quite feeling up to being interrogated just yet.

She slides the thickest folder over, and Noctis flips it open, dread pooling in his gut at the sheer amount of info he was looking at. There’s so much here it would take him _weeks_ to review.

“This is a collective summary of our findings so far. Mainly, as there are no witnesses aside from the young man you rescued, this is an account of any statements taken from your retinue and those present at the time of the incident.” She pauses, sliding forward a second, equally thick folder. “And this is a record of material evidence found at the scene.”

He flips through the first few sheets, but stops dead at a high definition photo of chains. Thick, blackened chains, severed in half by his own pristine engine blade.

Noctis swallows drily, flinching back to a moment a few days ago.

_… Noctis had avoided looking at the metal still encasing his soulmate’s ankle, as every time his eyes so much as glanced over the lump of the cuff under the blankets his mind whited out in fury and guilt._

_Now though, the cuff was in clear view as the doctors examined the stick-thin ankle and discussed how to best cut the cold metal from his body. The latch had been literally welded shut, making picking the lock impossible, and using a dremel or saw to sever it was out of the question with an oxygen machine in use nearby. They’d ultimately decided on bringing in a set of boltcutters, but the moment those things came into view Noctis leaped up to stop them, an inexplicable fear gripping him._

_He locked his eyes onto the cuff, the damn thing wrapped and padded to protect his soulmate’s skeletal leg. He stared at it bitterly, taking it in, truly, for the first time since severing it from the floor his soulmate had been bound to._

_He reached forward, hovering a hand over it. Then, before he could think too much about it, he latched his magic onto it and pulled—_

_With a burst of blue, the hellish thing vanished from sight in a crackle of crystalline magic. The doctors around him gasped in awe, but it was all Noctis could do not to vomit. The cuff was gone from his soulmate’s body, but was now bound to Noctis’ armiger, forever haunting a part of his soul._

_But if his soulmate had to bear it, so could he._

The image of that same cuff was in front of him now, looking just as horrible as it had before. If he focused, he could feel where they’d stashed it in a vault nearby after he’d dumped it out of the armiger for them to add to the pile of evidence. Not that he’d ever want to, but he could summon and dismiss it the same as he would a potion or weapon.

“…Given the state of decay of that particular part of the Citadel,” Miss Viridi was saying, “There should have been substantial amounts of rubble and debris, similar to the nearby floors, but there wasn’t.”

“It was frequently used,” Ignis supplied.

“Correct,” she nods, “In addition, a number of cells nearby were found in a similar state of tidiness. That is, noticeably lacking dust and rubble. Those other cells had been meticulously scrubbed clean.”

That snaps him to attention.

“…You’re telling me… there were _other people_ trapped down there?” Noctis interrupts, blatant horror making his voice go hollow.

“At some point, yes.” She confirms grimly. “No bodies have been found, however. Thankfully, despite the culprits’ best efforts, there is enough DNA evidence in the area to suggest a multitude of either victims or suspects. It’s now a matter of finding DNA to match it to.”

“Excellent news,” Ignis says, though Noctis doesn’t think it’s very excellent when the culprits were still out there and _highly unlikely_ to just volunteer to a DNA test.

“That being said,” Miss Viridi continues, obviously on the same line of thought at Noctis. “Given that our lone surviving victim was, for the lack of a better term, _visited_ ,” she just barely represses a grimace, “and frequently enough to keep him fed and alive, the culprits are likely already aware of our search now that they can no longer access the prison. It will be difficult to find them without witnesses or other evidence.”

“What about cameras? Patrols? Anything?” Noctis asks, trying and failing to keep all the desperation out of his voice.

“Video surveillance was conspicuously absent for the entirety of the corridor, and cameras placed outside the hallway were conveniently directed away from the entrance. This is, unfortunately not a coincidence, as other cameras in nearby areas went untouched,” Miss Viridi verifies.

“Patrols were infrequent,” Ignis fills in, “As the hall was designated as a simple storage area. No regular guard was needed to watch seemingly empty rooms.”

It was planned, which Noctis already knew, but just hearing it confirmed twists him up inside. Just how long had this been going on? And _why_? What’s the point of imprisoning people for seemingly no reason? Prompto hadn’t even been soulbound at the time of his imprisonment, so there was no reason to keep him as political leverage. That, and he was just a high schooler, without so much as a smudge on his record. He’d volunteered at an animal shelter each week, for Shiva’s sake.

Miss Viridi eyed his stormy expression a little warily, but continued. “The best thing we have to go on is the keypad that locked the hidden entrance. A recent addition, wired in to the Citadel’s Level Two security system, which, as you know, cycles through a new set of codes every three days.”

So it could have been anyone with access to those codes, which for Level Two, meant anyone in the Crownsguard or Glaives, as well as anyone ranking higher than them. That barely narrowed it down, but at least they didn’t have to worry about some random maid sneaking about.

They were going to have to be very cautious if they were going to catch them, and were already at a disadvantage since the culprits likely already knew they were looking. Their only advantage really being that whoever was responsible couldn’t really flee without looking suspicious.

Because they were very much still out there, easily blending into the hundreds of other people at the Citadel, smiling along and laughing innocently as his soulmate had _suffered_ and _starved._

Anger and frustration builds behind his eyes, and he can hear his teeth creaking with how tightly he’s gritting them. He’s aware, distantly, that he might be gripping the evidence folder far too tightly, that his knuckles have gone white.

Miss Viridi clears her throat, not-so-subtly trying to redirect her Prince’s rage from literally tearing apart her documentation.

“I understand this is not the best timing,” she says carefully, as if walking on birdbeast shells, “but seeing as the young man you rescued is seemingly the only survivor of what is framing up to be a series of ongoing crimes—"

“ _Murders_ ,” Noctis corrects.

“Alleged murders,” she continues, unflustered. “We will need to interview him. His statement would provide a first-hand account, and easily make or break this case.”

Noctis scowls. He understands her reasoning, but questioning Prompto anytime soon was just not possible, he just wasn’t healthy enough for it yet. He was still strapped into a oxygen machine, for Shiva’s sake. And besides, as the thick file folder in his hands graphically displayed, asking him anything about his experience was likely to trigger what was going to be some serious post-traumatic stress.

Ignis, as usual, finds words where he can’t. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible at this time. He is still recovering from his ordeal, and is not yet healthy enough to make a statement.”

And wouldn’t be, likely for a long, long time.

She nods, expecting this answer. “Yes, of course. I apologize if I came off as rude. I only wish to see his captors face justice, as well as prevent any further incidents.”

She moves to pull up several documents on her tablet, as well as some recording software.

“Your Highness, if you are finished reviewing the evidence so far, would you like to proceed with your statement of events?”

Noctis nods absently, too lost in thought. This meeting only brought him more questions than answers, and left him without anyone to skewer. Despite being Crown Prince, it was still, unfortunately, illegal for him to go around stabbing anyone that looked too suspicious.

And Noctis had the horrible feeling something bigger was going on.

“Please begin when you’re rea--”

 _Fear._ Cold, piercing, concentrated _fear_ , rips down through his soul, carving across his throat as he’s all but yanked out of his chair.

He’s out of the room and warping down the hall before anyone can blink.

\----

The man's grip lessens on his throat, just slightly, just enough to remind Prompto what he can, and has, done before. He runs his gloved thumb over the line, his eyes tracing it with disgust. A sneer pulls back his lip.

“You’re lucky, you know.” The man says. “You just got a lot more valuable.”

Somewhere beyond the fear, Prompto feels that pit of guilt that’s been gnawing at him, that pit that reminds him that somewhere out there and for seemingly endless days, he’d let his soulmate suffer alone. That he’d called to them, constantly, in both hope and fear.

And now he knows this person was Prince Noctis himself.

And that he’d be dragging him down right alongside him.

“ETA two minutes,” a guard near the door spoke up from where he’d been watching, his hand pressed to his ear.

The man sighs, disappointed. “I’m going to miss our longer visits,” he says, wistfully. He shifts away from where he’d been looming over him, lifting his hand away from his neck. He pats Prompto’s cheek.

“Ah, before I forget. We got you a gift.” The man steps back, momentarily moving out of view behind the privacy curtain. He rolls up a pristine looking wheelchair, beautiful and elegant to the point of matching the room he was in. “Just a little something we all threw together.”

He lifts the seat. There, beneath the soft silken cushion was a solid black box, wires spilling out the sides like the frayed memories of his happiness.

Then, without giving him the chance to process, that yes, that’s a _bomb_ , he locks the seat back down and rolls the wheelchair gently aside.

“We’ll be watching, little Nif,” He smiles at him, quick and cruel. “So keep your mouth shut ‘til we decide what to do with you.”

Prompto’s still shaking, still overwhelmed and _horrified_ , when the man leaves. His eyes follow the man's broad, uncaring back as he disappears from view, his brain knowing not to let him out of his sight.

The door clicks shut, leaving him alone with a guard, a bomb, and the distant panic of the prince he’s bound to.


	10. Finally Protected

Gladio walks in, opening the door as quietly as possible, fully expecting the occupant to be sleeping. Instead, he freezes in place from the intense gaze boring through him. The kid was very much awake; awake and _freaking out_.

Gladio wheels on the guard standing at attention at his post just inside the door.

“What. Happened.” Gladio demands, voice low and dangerous.

“Sir. My apologies, he just woke up and started panicking,” the man reports.

Gladio’s already working his way across the room, moving in slow, telegraphed movements. Oddly, the kid wasn’t even looking at him, staring past him with wide eyes at the door.

“You saw him freaking out and didn’t _do_ anything?” Gladio growls, trying to keep his voice low to keep from startling the kid any further. The kid – _Prompto_ – he reminds himself, was still laying immobile on the bed, buried in blankets and a million wires and tubes; but it was unmistakable how he trembled in place, those blankets shifting and the wires shaking. The boney fingers of his free hand were clenched in a fist into the sheets. The only sound besides the elevated heart rate monitor was thin, raspy breaths, out of sync with the oxygen machine.

The guard sputters out some excuses, which Gladio ignores. Ain’t no way a guy that incompetent wasn’t getting replaced as soon possible. Right now however, he had other priorities.

“Kid, hey, focus on me alright?” he says, but it’s not until he steps close that Prompto’s eyes suddenly snap to him, sharp and focused and _afraid_ —

Gladio instantly stops moving, instead opting to drag a chair close, well within the kid’s line of sight. He sits, making himself as small as possible. A difficult feat, but necessary; he knew how intimidating he could be. His size and stature was infinitely useful for his duty as Noctis’ Shield, but here, in the face of a traumatized boy, it was infinitely useless.

“Take slow breaths, yeah?” he tells him, warily eyeing the blood-oxygen and heart rate monitors next to the currently panicking teen. “Here, follow me,” and taps a hand to his own broad chest a couple times then demonstrates a deep breath. In, out, repeat. Slow and steady. In, out, repeat.

He’s not certain it’s really helping at first, but sure enough the kid starts slowing down. Breathing in, out, in, out. His eyes, still sharp and alert, lose that fearful edge. They remain latched onto Gladio, following every move he makes. Gladio can’t help feel like he’s being tested, or judged.

It takes a good five minutes, but the kid starts to relax. Or rather, he starts to sag with exhaustion. Those blue eyes lose their alert edge, and his eyelids start to droop. He can tell the kid’s fighting it, the way he clearly struggles against them. The way he keeps looking at the door, Gladio guesses he’s looking for his soulmate.

Gladio offers him a smile, “Go to sleep, yeah? Noct’ll be back soon—”

The door slams open, making Gladio tense and Prompto jerk back awake from his doze. The kid’s heart rate monitor immediately launches back up, Gladio efforts to calm him practically tossed out the Citadel window. Noctis stands in the doorway, bent double and gasping.

“ _Six,_ Noct! What the hell?” Gladio swears.

Noctis stumbles forward, almost tripping across the room to fall against the rails of the bed. Gladio tosses an arm out to keep him from jostling Prompto’s frail form or any of the delicate medical equipment. But Noctis ignores his Shield’s presence entirely, fully focused on his soulmate.

“Prom—" he gasps out, clutching for his hand, “Prompto, it’s – It’s okay. You’re okay,” he almost looks more panicked than the kid. He also, Gladio decides, looks about halfway to Stasis. Had he warped all the way here?

Gladio stands from his seat and shoves it behind Noctis’ knees, causing him to sit abruptly with a yelp before his legs could fold beneath him themselves.

“Sit down, Princess,” like he hadn’t just knocked his legs out from under him, “You both need to calm down.”

Noctis doesn’t protest other than to shoot him a glare. He returns his focus back to his soulmate. Prompto looks _exhausted._ Terror was the only thing keeping him awake, petrified on the bed with nothing but tremors wracking his hollow frame. His blue eyes were more alert than he’d ever seen them, latched onto Noctis as he attempted to get his breath. Normally, Noctis would have been thrilled to see him so awake, but the fear still thrumming through the soul thread ruined it.

Noctis checks the rest of him over. Besides the fear, he seemed alright. Well, as alright as he physically could be in his weakened state.

“You’re okay,” he says again, more to reassure himself. He sags a little further into the chair, sheer relief making him relax a bit. Prompto still looks anything but relaxed, clinging to Noctis’ hand with shaky fingers.

“Learn to knock, Noct,” Gladio gripes at him. “I about had him calmed down before you busted in.”

Noctis winces. So that’s what that second spike of fear was about. Before he can go to apologize, there’s a knock at the door.

Ignis enters immediately without waiting for a response. He looks somehow elegantly disheveled. Which, for Ignis, was nearly unkempt. Noctis winces again. Warping out of that meeting without any explanation was probably not the best idea.

A small hoard of medical professionals enter directly behind Ignis. Prompto’s eyes flick to them, but no spike of fear follows.

“See, Princess,” Gladio says. “Knocking.”

Ignis steps up beside Gladio, his sharp eyes taking in the two of them and how Prompto, while seemingly physically okay, was clearly distressed.

“What happened?” he asks. He says nothing of Noctis ditching him across the Citadel, leaving him to assume the worst. He ushers a couple doctors closer to check Prompto over. They step up, and the number of people around Prompto is clearly getting overwhelming for him. The kid’s gone from straight up fear to genuine nervousness, his eyes flicking between all of them. Ignis steps back to give him some space and gestures Gladio to follow. Noctis, unsurprisingly, doesn’t budge from Prompto’s bedside.

“Not sure,” Gladio says, frowning. “Guard said he woke up and started freaking out.” He stares down the guard by the entrance, who’s looking more and more like he’d rather be anywhere else. Gladio was looking forward to making him run laps until he pukes.

Even Ignis doesn’t look convinced. “A nightmare, perhaps?” he suggests.

“Maybe.” Given what the kid’s gone through, Gladio doesn’t doubt the possibility.

“You weren’t here?” Noctis scowls at him.

“I was at the manor, Noct. Took me a good fifteen minutes to get here.” That, and he kept getting stopped by random Crownsguard asking him about training schedules. As if he didn’t already have enough to do than train their scrawny asses.

Gladio does feel a little guilty though. He’d been able to calm the kid down when he got here, but maybe if he’d arrived sooner he could’ve prevented it. The kid might not know it yet, but his safety protocol was basically on par with the Prince. Gladio was still technically just Noctis’ Shield, but until a proper (and heavily vetted) guard was set up for Prompto, Gladio was responsible for his protection as well. Even if it’s from his own nightmares.

By the time the doctor’s finish up checking Prompto over, noting high blood pressure and elevated stress levels, Prompto’s flagging fast. He hasn’t made a sound throughout the whole thing, granted he still had an oxygen mask on his face and a tube down his throat, but it was still eerie how silent he was being. Not so much as a whimper, even though he was clearly scared.

He takes one more desperate and worried look at Noctis, like he was trying to tell him something, before his sunken eyelids finally slip shut. The stiffness leaves his boney shoulders as he sinks back into the pillows just slightly.

Noctis feels the tension in their soul thread finally ease as Prompto falls asleep. Noctis relaxes with it, slumping back against the chair. Gladio and Ignis were speaking in low murmurs so as not to wake Prompto again, but Noctis wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying. He was already exhausted before leaving for that meeting, now he felt like someone had drained him from the inside-out.

He’d known Prompto was no doubt going to have PTSD to some extent, but experiencing it through their bond for the first time was _terrifying_. The call was a thousand times more intense than it had been before they’d bonded, where before it had been more similar to a constant ache settled deep in his bones. Now it was a sledgehammer to the chest, with a few extra swings for good measure.

And that’s just for a nightmare. Something happening in real life would be even worse.

But he won’t let it come to that. Those people that hurt his soulmate wouldn’t live to get the chance.

Exhaustion starts dragging him down, when a glimmer of blue catches his eye as he starts to doze. He blinks back up.

Carbuncle’s figurine is still set delicately on the pillow next to Prompto’s head. It shines softly in the dimmed overhead lights, as if deliberately trying to get his attention. Noctis’ eyes widen.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he says, before he even finishes the thought.

“Pardon?” Ignis asks, stopping mid-sentence on whatever he’d been talking about with Gladio.

Noctis sits up, reaching across the space to carefully pick up the small blue fox figurine. He cradles it in his palm for a long moment, studying it. He looks again to Prompto, finally resting, then sweeps the room with a suspicious eye. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, except a new wheelchair set against the nearby wall. He frowns.

“Was anyone else here?” Noctis turns a piercing gaze to the guard near the door.

“No, Your Highness,” he says, straightening to attention. “A nurse delivered a wheelchair, but didn’t enter the room.”

Noctis stares at him a moment too long, “I see.” Then somehow shares a look with Ignis without even looking at him. His advisor picks up on his tell instantly. Ignis might not understand what prompted this, but trusts Noctis to know when something was off. Instead of calling it out however, he casually turns to Gladio.

“Well, this has been an eventful evening for everyone. Shall we call it a day?” he suggests, adjusting his sleeves a bit, but he pulls at his left cufflink twice, then his right one once. Gladio instantly recognizes the signal.

“I _just_ got here,” Gladio gripes, catching on that something was happening. Ignis needed to leave for some reason, but didn’t want to leave them alone. Gladio agreed to that last part, he didn’t trust that guard as far as he could throw him.

“Then stay, if you wish, but I will be retiring to my own quarters.” He turns to leave. “and Noctis, it wouldn’t hurt you to sleep in a _bed_ tonight. That chair is doing your back no favors.”

Noctis rolls his eyes for show and nods his agreement. Another code, Ignis telling him to go to bed meant to find one of the many safehouses in the Citadel if necessary. That said, they both knew he wasn’t going anywhere without Prompto, and Prompto wasn’t exactly _movable_ right now.

Ignis leaves, and ten minutes later a Glaive is sent up to replace the shoddy guard. The guard doesn’t argue, but winces when Gladio orders him to spend the rest of his remaining shift running laps.

Noctis feels a little bad knowing Ignis likely wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight, checking security footage and chasing down whatever gut feeling Noctis had. But it was well worth it to try.

The fact of it is, Carbuncle would _never_ have let his soulmate suffer through a nightmare that intense. The little fox was a powerful guardian of dreams, and far too kind hearted to let someone suffer a nightmare in his domain.

Whatever had happened, Noctis wasn’t letting his soulmate out of his sight after this.


End file.
